Le Visiteur
by smilelikey0umeanit
Summary: Epilogue to Under The Bridge, could be read as a separate story. Sandra has relocated to Paris with Max, but an unexpected visitor brings news that could threaten her new life. Sandra/Max.
1. Dinner For Two?

_**Disclaimer: New Tricks isn't mine.**_

Le Visiteur

She sat down heavily on the old leather sofa in the living room, staring into the fire she'd just lit to warm the draughty French apartment. Max hated the cold. So did she, but she didn't complain about it as much as him. She'd been thinking a lot about their relationship recently. She'd always been dependent on him. From the moment they'd met, she'd relied on him to give her the comfort and strength that she'd need to rebuild her life. Even now, without him she'd be out of a job, not to mention homeless. Over the past few months, a fear had slowly infiltrated her mind- what would happen if they split up? She'd certainly have to move out, the apartment rightfully belonged to Max, but where would she go? She had no other friends here in France, or at least no friends as true as her boys.

Truth be told, she was dependent on Max for company, too. When he was away giving evidence in a foreign court, sometimes for weeks on end, the loneliness almost consumed her. During the day she could focus on work, supervising the team until Max returned, but at night there was nothing except an empty bed to look forward to. She still hadn't explored Paris, not properly, despite living in the city for eighteen months. Unlike London, where she could tell you every restaurant within a three mile radius of her house and probably more besides, here she only knew the large tourist places. Max rarely had time to show her around the city; she'd never met a busier man. She appreciated why he'd hired her, the job was impossible for him to do alone.

She was fond of her work, she had to admit. Especially on the days when she and Max worked together. They made a good team. The atmosphere when they cracked a case together could only be described as electric. She chuckled softly to herself. Fifty five years old and still getting a buzz from solving cases. These cases were different from anything she'd worked on before, though. The things she'd seen, the people she'd met… Although, like UCOS, there was still the same motivation to solve crimes for closure, for justice, even though sometimes, in the eyes of the public, there was more pressing work to be done.

She returned her thoughts to the fear that, before now, she had never really allowed herself to fully consider. If they split up, she had two real choices- either she started looking for a new job in the force and moved wherever that required her to go, or she returned to London. That thought filled her with dread. Yes, Gerry and Rob were there. Jack and Brian were there. Her mother was there. It made sense for her to go back, given that she'd lived there for the majority of her lifetime, but…she just couldn't bring herself to. The house that she'd been imprisoned in for over a week was still there. So were the men that had abducted her, although they were safely behind bars. They'd made sure of that. Not to mention that the team had resented her for leaving. They'd never said anything, but she'd seen it in their eyes. She didn't blame them. Why should she get a new life handed to her on a plate when Gerry and Rob had been through exactly the same thing? Even Jack probably deserved it more than her.

He'd loved France, because Mary loved it. They'd always planned to move to a little fishing village on the west coast after Jack retired, but Hanson had got in the way of that. She remembered that day as vividly as if it were yesterday. She had just been promoted to DCI, leaving Jack's team to head up her own. It was lunchtime, and she was sat in her new office, looking out of the window across the car park. In her peripheral vision, she'd seen a figure weaving through the rainbow of parked cars. She'd turned her full attention to the person, wondering why they were running. Initially she had assumed it was a criminal escaping from custody, but then she focused in, squinting from her seventh floor window. She'd recognised the long coat billowing out behind the man, she knew the Ford Focus he was climbing into. Jack. She instantly grabbed her own coat and marched out of the office at full pelt, driven by some kind of sixth sense that told her something was wrong. By the time she had reached the car park, he was already long gone. Later that day, she finally tracked him down to the hospital, and found him at the bedside of his beautiful Mary, weeping. Precisely a year and a day following that, Mary had passed away. She sighed to herself, closing her eyes in a silent moment of remembrance. The creaking sound of the front door opening disturbed her from her reverie, and she rose from the sofa to greet her partner. He'd been away in Germany for three days, and the loneliness had already begun to take its toll on her. She'd missed him.

"Sandra," he greeted her, placing his suitcase on the wooden hallway floor and holding his arms out for her. She stepped into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder as he placed a gentle kiss on her hair. "I've missed you." He whispered, inhaling the strawberry scent of her hair. "Likewise." She murmured, tightening her hold on him for a moment before letting go. They looked at each other teasingly before she gave in and grinned, leaning in to place a slow, tender kiss on his lips. He smiled, enjoying the moment before gently pulling away. "I'll cook dinner," he said, "My treat."

* * *

It was two hours later, and the homely smell of Beef Bourguignon was filling the old Parisian apartment. She was sat in her favourite armchair, reading a French magazine which she still didn't fully understand, despite living and working in France for eighteen months. Max had tried to teach her the basics but had deemed her a _'cas désespéré'_- a hopeless case. The French language was a strange thing. The sound of Max's phone ringing somewhere in another room distracted her, and she heard him run into the bedroom where it was charging.

"Hello?" she heard him answer, slightly breathless. She could tell it wasn't anyone from work by the tone of his voice, plus the fact that he was speaking in English.

"Okay…why?" he sounded confused. She waited to hear more to guess who it might be.

"Oh I see. No, not at all, don't worry about it. You've done the right thing under the circumstances." Now she really was bewildered. She placed her magazine on the coffee table and wandered into the bedroom, where Max was sat on the edge of the bed, his phone still pressed to his ear. He noticed her presence and reached out his arm, indicating her to sit on his lap. She did so, worried about the frown on his face. She still couldn't hear the voice emanating from the phone, so she continued listening to Max's side of the conversation.

"How long will you be? I'll pick you up from the airport if you like,"

"Are you sure? It's expensive."

"Okay, we'll see you soon. Bye."

He ended the phone call, putting his phone on the bedside table with a sigh, and resting his head on her shoulder.

"What is it? Who are you picking up from the airport?" she asked, undeniably curious.

"We're going to have a visitor."

* * *

_For Beth xxx_


	2. Unfinished Business

_**A/N: I am technically 'retired' from writing fanfiction but this is unfinished business, so to speak. See chapter one for disclaimer.**_

She sighed as she sat down at the rustic oak dining table, waiting for Max to return. It felt strange, setting three places instead of two. Still, this whole situation was strange. It had been an hour since the phone call that had summoned her partner to the Charles de Gaulle. The phone call that had reopened the door inside her mind which, after two years, she'd finally managed to lock. Obviously, if it could be unlocked that easily, then it wasn't fully impenetrable in the first place. Even she would admit that to herself. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she noticed it was already half past seven; they would be here soon.

She rose from the ladderback chair, stretching wearily before crossing to the oven, carelessly catching her hip on the kitchen island. She leaned on the graphite surface for a moment, placing her head in her hands in a futile attempt to gather her thoughts, which were swirling around her head like an autumn breeze, whipping up a sea of russet leaves. Honestly, she'd thought it would be worse than this. She could have felt scared, anxious at the threat of a figure from her previous life entering her new one, but at present she felt…dazed. Like her limbs weren't connected to her body.

Truthfully, she'd known deep in her subconscious that something like this would happen. Some things were just too good to be true, and her adoring partner, beautiful home and thrilling job definitely fell into that category. Good things just didn't happen to her, and Fate had decided that the balance needed to be restored. Well, she doubted she would ever be ready, but she could handle it, surely. The scars of her past made her who she was today. Although she had an unnerving feeling that the past wasn't going to stay that way.

She stood up to her full height resolutely, ensuring her hands were steady enough that she wouldn't drop the steaming hot dish of beef bourguignon on its way out of the oven. As if on cue, she heard the front door open with its usual loud creak, and, a few seconds later, muffled voices in the hallway. She drew in a deep breath, gathering the courage she needed. Leaning down to remove the dish from the oven, she caught a snippet of the men's conversation.

"Here, I'll take that through to your room."

"There's no need, Max, I'll do it. I've caused you enough trouble for one day."

"It's fine, honestly. We're happy to have you. Come on in, you must be exhausted."

She placed the inviting dish on the work surface to cool, briefly closing her eyes before turning around to face the man in the doorway. It had been a year since she'd last seen him, and she remembered him as he was on that day at the pub, with Gerry: still mentally bruised from their ordeal, but disguising it well under a bright smile and warm laughter. The contrast to how he was today, stood in her doorway, was shocking. His shoulders was slumped dejectedly; his hair was matted from the heavy Parisian rain that was beating relentlessly on the window; there was a shadow of grey stubble forming on his face. She was still nervous about what news he possessed, but for now, her sympathy overwhelmed her and she ran to him, still with a tea towel in her hand, pulling him into an embrace.

"Rob," she whispered, simply as a statement.

"I'm sorry," he replied quietly. "I didn't know what else to do."

"It's alright," she affirmed, releasing him from her grasp. "As long as you're safe. Sit down, dinner's ready."

He smiled drowsily, happy in the knowledge that Sandra hadn't lost her maternal side. A quiet "thank you" was all he could summon.

Max clapped his friend on the back reassuringly as he sat at the dining table. "Don't let her take all the credit, I made it really," he joked, sitting down whilst Sandra brought the meal over from the kitchen.

"I could have quite easily let it burn, I deserve some credit," she returned, exchanging a look with Max that signalled they were both equally worried about their mutual friend.

"It looks delicious either way," Rob said quietly. His matchmaking had clearly been a success; Sandra and Max looked as happy together now as they had done when they'd first met back in London, over a year ago now. He sensed that time had passed more quickly for them than it had done for him, alone in his flat. Still, he could never spite them. Both of them had saved his skin over the years in more ways than either of them knew. He smiled as Sandra placed a warm, comforting dish of the French classic in front of him.

"Bon appetite," she said softly. "Or as us Brits would say, eat up!"

Both men chuckled as they all tucked into their meal, delighting in its warmth after what had been a long day for all of them. They enjoyed the companionable silence for a while, before Sandra broke the spell. She had to. She needed to know.

"Rob," she almost whispered. "Why are you here?

He placed his fork down gently, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands. He slowly sat back in his chair, drawing in a deep breath.

"It's Felsham."

"What about him? He's in prison." She asked, leaning closer to him.

"He's dead. Heart disease."

She took a moment to process the information.

"Isn't that…a good thing?" Max interjected cautiously. "I mean, not a good thing, but…what he did to you…"

"I know what you mean. It is good, in a way, but I still don't understand, Rob." She said slowly, attempting to summarise her thoughts.

"Felsham's solicitors sent me this, as requested in his will." He reached into his pocket, retrieving a slightly crumpled note. He passed it across the table for Sandra to read.

"We're not finished with you yet."


	3. Retracing Steps

_**A/N: Just a short one this time, I must admit that this is a bit of a filler chapter. Thank you to all who reviewed, your support keeps me going. See chapter one for disclaimer.**_

"Right. Let's go through this again." She prompted, a suggestion which was instantly met with sighs from the two men. They had retired to the living room, where Max was sat on the sofa and Rob in an armchair to the side, both facing her. None of them had bothered to light the fire, despite the draughty feel of the old apartment- all pretences of warm hospitality had been sacrificed in favour of the cold, hard truth.

"Sandra, sit down, please." Her partner pleaded wearily. She had been pacing around in front of the fireplace for the last twenty minutes, but she couldn't sit down. That would mean she wasn't doing anything, and right now there was a whole list of things that needed to be done.

"I'm sorry," she answered, noticing his tired eyes, "But I need to go through this, just one more time. Please."

He closed his eyes for a moment, summoning the strength to agree with her. It was nearing midnight, and all he wanted to do was sleep, if only to forget the living nightmare which Rob had brought to his doorstep, just for a few hours.

"Okay, but after this, we're going to sleep." He said, more firmly than before. She knew that he was worried about her, and so was Rob, but she couldn't sleep. How could she sleep when, for all they knew, someone could be watching them, right at this moment?

"Fine. Okay, so the note was delivered to you today, Monday the 21st, Rob?" She deliberately used his first name to draw him back into the conversation, noticing that he was lapsing in focus.

He nodded, eyeing her with concern. "Even though you were at work, we can assume that it came with your normal post because the envelope was stamped with the solicitors postmark and it contained a letter from the company explaining that this was a part of Felsham's will. For it to be made by someone else and hand-delivered they'd have had to replicate the postmark and the company's paper somehow, which is unlikely. You got home at about six, found the letter and opened it. Had you had any communication with that firm of solicitors beforehand?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but I've dealt with hundreds of solicitors and lawyers in my time, Sandra. There's probably records of them somewhere in my office but they're no use at the moment." He leant back, resting his head against the back of the leather armchair. He had no idea why he'd even thought to come here. Spontaneous decisions to jump on the first plane to Paris never ended well.

"Never mind. We can still contact them. Right. What did you do immediately after reading the note?"

"I was shocked, I just…stood there for a while, taking it in I suppose. I took my briefcase into the kitchen, got out my laptop and booked a plane ticket to Paris for the earliest flight." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "I really am sorry, honestly. I don't know why I came here. I'll get on the first flight in the morning, I promise."

"No, you did the right thing. And I'm not just saying that. Either you stay here until this is all sorted out or I come back to London with you." She said firmly.

"Sandra, are you sure that's a good idea? If you think people could be watching you here then it'll be ten times worse if you go back to London." Max suggested cautiously. He knew that trying to stop her when she had an idea in her head wasn't advisable.

"That's true, but if this is going to be sorted out then I'll have to run the risk. Besides, it's difficult trying to make enquiries from here, I don't have the correct databases or anything like that." She reasoned, leaning on the mantelpiece and almost knocking the photograph of her and Max off. She still wasn't used to having photographs around the house.

"I'll organise you some form of protection through our guys, surveillance officers, anything you need. Like you said, Felsham has people everywhere in the Met, and outside it. You can't trust anyone in the force."

"I know. Okay, so you packed a bag and went straight to Heathrow, right?" she paused briefly whilst he indicated in the affirmative. "Did you drive or take a taxi?"

"I went in a taxi, I couldn't be bothered with the airport parking. Why?"

"Did you speak to the driver? Did you tell him where you were going?" She questioned, moving towards him so she was practically looming over him in the chair, her breathing rapid.

"Sandra." Max almost growled, jumping off the sofa and pulling her away by her shoulders, turning her to face him so they were eye to eye. "You need to stop. You're being paranoid. Sleep. Now." He pointed aggressively to the door.

She stared at him for a moment, returning his anger with twice as much fire in her burning blue eyes. Neither of them blinked for a long, silent moment. Rob sat uncomfortably in his chair, not daring to move, for fear of the action breaking the deadlock between his two friends. He looked first to Sandra, then to Max, repeating the process over and over again as though he was watching some kind of bizarre tennis match.

Finally, as he had predicted, the blonde was the first to break. She turned suddenly, the blunt points of her hair slicing her face as her body whipped around and she stormed out of the room, slamming the door with a crash that startled both men from the silence that had encapsulated the room. But what startled Rob even more was the faint sob, originating from the woman he knew possessed incredible strength.


	4. In The Loop

_**A/N: You may (or may not) have been wondering where our favourite Cockney fits into all this. Well…**_

_Five hours earlier…_

The shrill noise of his phone ringing on the glass table next to his sun lounger disturbed him from his semi-slumber. He sat up, lifting his sunglasses to the top of his head and rubbing his bleary eyes. He picked up the phone, which reflected the evening sun into his face. Straining his eyes, he made out the name 'Rob' on the display and answered the call.

"Alright mate, what's going on?" The more his mind became alert, the more worried he was about this out-of-the-blue phone call. It had been four months since he'd moved away, and he'd barely heard anything from his friend.

"Gerry, sorry to disturb you. Erm…I'm on a plane. To Paris."

The older man paused for a moment, contemplating the statement. Paris meant Sandra, which meant something was wrong. Seriously wrong. Either that or he was about to propose to some poor woman at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

"Dare I ask why?" he replied.

"I got a note. It was from Felsham, he's dead. I just needed to get out of my house, and I thought I should tell Sandra, so I just got on the first plane, I don't know what the hell I was thinking, I just did it…"

Gerry sat up bolt upright in his lounger, raising his hand slightly to indicate that he was busy to pacify the woman next to him mouthing "Who is it?"

"Hold on, hold on. Calm down mate. How can you get a note from someone who's dead? More importantly, what did it say?"

"He requested that it be delivered to me in his will. It said "We're not finished with you yet."

Shit. Felsham had people everywhere, they all knew that. Bloody hell. Still, he was here, in Spain, and Sandra was in Paris with Max, and Rob was on his way out of the country, so surely they were alright, at least for the time being?

"Listen, you've done the right thing by getting out of London, that buys us some time. We all know what Felsham's like. Shall I come over? To Paris, I mean."

The brunette on the chair next to him shot him a glare. "Paris?!" she exclaimed.

"Ssh, just give me a minute!" he replied, "Sorry mate, go on."

"Maybe you should just wait for a bit, you're probably safer over there. Hopefully this isn't as bad as I'm anticipating, I don't know." He sighed, uncertain of what to suggest for the best. He couldn't help but to wish, selfishly, that it had been Gerry or Sandra who had received the note. They had so much more strength than he did.

"Yeah, you're probably right. If they find out we're all in Paris then we're buggered. Thanks for letting me know anyway, and keep me updated, yeah?" He was glad Rob had called him. He had a suspicion that if it was Sandra who'd received the note, she'd have kept him out of the loop to protect him. Or to avoid talking to Jeanette. One meeting was quite enough where those two were concerned. Well, he didn't need bloody protecting. He'd had more than his fair share of bad news and close scrapes in the past.

"I will do, although it'll probably be tomorrow morning. We can't really do anything until then."

"Alright. Safe flight, mate." He ended the call, placing his phone back on the table beside him and laying back in his lounger, clapping his hands to his sunburnt face.

"Who was that? What about Paris?" Jeanette said, standing over him with her hands on her hips. He loved the woman, but bloody hell could she make a racket.

"It was Rob. Strickland. The guy who I was abducted with."

"Oh?" She replied softly. It was rare that her partner spoke about the events of two years ago, and she didn't press him to open up about it. She'd made it clear from the start that their future was all she was concerned about; the past was unchangeable. She watched him as he thought carefully, framing his words for her ears.

"The man who orchestrated our kidnap is dead, but he requested in his will that a note be sent to Rob. It was delivered today. It said 'we're not finished with you yet'. So I suppose that means things might get dangerous, for us. Rob is on his way to Paris, to tell Sandra. It's best he gets out of the country. Felsham has people everywhere."

"Gerry…" she said his name as a statement, kneeling down beside him and pulling him into her arms. He resisted, but she tightened her hold.

"No," she whispered. "Just for two minutes, let me be the one to protect you."

* * *

His tranquil state, unable to sleep but absorbed in listening to the gentle hum of the Parisian traffic, was brought to an end by the sound of footsteps on the creaky hallway floor outside his room. He'd never had chance to explore the city he professed to love, not really; that was one of his many regrets. Of course, he'd taken his ex-wife to the top of the Eiffel Tower, visited the fancy restaurants, had conferences on the twentieth floor of buildings overlooking the urban sprawl below, but that wasn't what he enjoyed. No, he liked the little cafes on backstreets, the antiques shops in the suburbs, art galleries.

He noticed that the footsteps had stopped, right outside his room. Well, he mentally corrected himself, it couldn't really be called _his_ room. If all went to plan, he would be back in London in the next eight hours, according to the clock on his phone. It was nice, for the time being, not to be at home. If he really focused, he could close his eyes and pretend that he'd just popped over to see his friends as a little holiday, albeit a spontaneous one, and that all thoughts of Felsham were strictly resigned to the past. But that would be avoiding the inevitable. This was a problem that, for once, he couldn't just run away from.

He started slightly as a soft knock sounded on the door. He still didn't know for certain whether it was Max or Sandra; from the footsteps he would guess Sandra, but the old wood was so creaky it was difficult to tell. Reluctantly, he climbed out of the comforting metal-framed bed with its fresh cotton sheets, padding over to the door and pulling it open as quietly as he could. As he'd guessed, it was Sandra he found facing him. She was wearing a white dressing gown, the type found in hotels, but she was shivering nevertheless. The draught from the hallway indicated that the rest of the apartment was colder than the room he was occupying.

"Come in," he whispered, stepping to the side to let her pass. She nodded, biting her lip as though unsure of herself. He closed the door behind her and turned to watch as she walked over to the window, gazing out serenely over the small backyard belonging to the apartment. He sat on the bed patiently, knowing better than to rush her.

"You know, the view is better from the living room. You can see out onto the main road, and there's the boulangerie opposite. From here, you might as well be in London. Unfortunately Max has taken the front room for tonight." She said, still staring into the night sky, punctuated with both man-made and natural specks of light from buildings and stars respectively. He stalled, not quite knowing how to respond to her series of statements. Especially as he was unable to judge her facial expression.

"I'm sorry it's white." She apologised before he had formulated a response.

"What?"

"The room. It's white. It reminds me of the cellar. I thought it might remind you of it too."

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say- the thought hadn't even crossed his mind, surprisingly. Perhaps that meant he was finally getting over the trauma. He hadn't had any nightmares for a while either. Or maybe Sandra had been affected by it more than him. He doubted it, but he knew she could mask her emotions better than an award-winning actress. You could never really tell when it came to her.

They continued in silence for a while, both knowing that they had something they needed to tell the other yet unable to select the correct words in which to phrase it.

"Did Gerry sound like he was going to stay in Spain, when you told him to? You know what he's like."

"Um…yeah, I suppose. I didn't really tell him to, it was more of a suggestion to be honest. I was still in shock at that point."

"Oh. Hopefully if he does try to come over here, Jeanette will stop him. She seems sensible."

"Hmm." He had witnessed the meeting of Sandra and Jeanette, and it wasn't pretty. He had seemed to be the only one to realise that the two women were almost identical; not in looks but in personality. They descended into silence again, but this time it was even more uncomfortable.

"Sandra, I feel awful for asking this of you, but…" He paused briefly, deciding quickly that it was probably best to just come out with it. "I think I should stay here. If that's okay with you. And Max, of course."

She turned around for the first time since she had entered the room. The ironic smirk on her face unnerved him a little, but he kept eye contact with her. "I was going to suggest that too."

"Really?"

"Yes. I don't think it's safe you being in London. I know I was being paranoid earlier with the whole taxi driver thing but in the Met we definitely can't trust anyone." She admitted.

"You weren't being paranoid, you were shocked. I understand," he responded softly.

"I was. Being paranoid, that is. But thank you anyway."

He chuckled, just slightly, looking down at the floor. "Okay, you were. But I don't blame you."

They shared a small smile, blue eyes meeting blue. "Rob?"

"Yeah?"

"I know this sounds awful, but I'm glad we're in this together."

He nodded, understanding precisely what she meant.

"So am I."


	5. Waking Up

**_A/N: Another filler chapter. My writing bug seems to have disappeared and I'm away from Monday to Friday so I will either go back into retirement or burden you with pitifully slow updates. Sorry. _**

He tiptoed through the hallway on his way to the living room, unsure of who he would find. It was approaching nine, so Max should have gone to work. He wouldn't be surprised if Sandra was still asleep following the events of last night, but she would probably take the day off work. So, in theory, he should have the room to himself. He needed to call Gerry, to update him, but truth be told there was nothing to report. Sandra knew now, and the more they'd talked it over, the worse it had become. At least his initial reaction, although over-dramatic, hadn't been entirely in vain. He entered the room, quietly clicking the door shut behind him. Empty. He felt like a child who had woken up early at a sleepover, creeping around his friend's house. He sat on the armchair in the corner and scrolled to Gerry's name in his list of contacts, selecting the 'call' option.

"Mornin'," the Cockney's voice sounded through the phone.

"Morning. How are you bearing up?" he inquired, concerned about the rough, weary edge to Gerry's voice.

"I'm alright, thanks. More worried about you to be honest though, what happened last night. Is Sandra okay?"

He paused for a moment, internally debating whether to tell him the truth, and risk making him even more worried, or withhold it.

"She isn't, to be honest. She kept us up until midnight going through what happened again and again. She was getting really paranoid. Her and Max had an argument and she stormed off to bed in tears."

"Jesus. I thought she'd take it alright, but then again she probably didn't expect this, what with her perfect new life in Paris and all that. None of us did."

"Hmm," he mused, matching Gerry's contemplative tone. He couldn't help but to wonder whether Sandra's 'perfect life in Paris' was really so perfect after all. As if on cue, the door opened and the woman herself entered, silently sitting on the old leather sofa. She looked at him, her bright blue eyes ringed with smudges of black mascara that she hadn't had the energy to remove, contrasting starkly with the blotches of red from the previous night's tears. She looked a mess, but he'd seen her in worse states.

"Are you staying in Paris then?" He'd been so occupied with Sandra's unannounced entrance that he'd almost forgotten about his conversation with Gerry.

"Er, yes. For the time being, anyway. It's probably safer."

"You do right mate. Should I come over then? I can be there by tonight, I've got my stuff packed just in case." He suggested, somewhat eagerly.

He sighed. He'd been thinking about this, and what he was about to say sounded patronising, but he genuinely did want to protect Gerry.

"Maybe you should hold on, until tomorrow, just to give us chance to make some enquiries. I know it sounds like I'm deliberately keeping you away, but I just don't want you to do anything rash, that could risk your safety." He reasoned.

The long sigh from the other end of the phone revealed his frustration at being kept out of the loop, but deep down he understood. Both men were united in clinging to the hope that this would turn out to be nothing serious, and they could all just return to their normal lives.

"Okay. Just promise to keep me updated, yeah? Give my love to Sandra."

"Of course. Speak to you later." He ended the phone call, returning his eyes to the woman in question. They stared at each other uncomfortably for a long moment before he decided that small talk was probably a good way to start.

"Gerry sends his love."

"Oh."

The unnerving silence returned as she moved her eyes away from him and into the fireplace, filled with the dark remnants of the last fire that had been lit. He tried again. If they were going to resolve this problem, they needed to work together.

"Is Max at work?"

The reappearance of her worryingly ironic smile displayed that he'd obviously struck a nerve. It was probably the wrong one, but it was something, at least.

"You could say that." She spoke properly for the first time that day. Her voice was throaty, a little hoarse even.

"What does that mean?"

"He is at work," she spoke slowly, selecting every word with precision so it cut through the tense air like a blade. "But for the next three days, his work is in Germany."

"Oh." He responded simply.

"He left me a note, ironically. So thoughtful of him." She said, her voice still laced with sarcasm. She rustled the paper in her dressing gown pocket as she took it out and began to read it aloud.

"Sandra. I'm sorry, but I was called to Germany early this morning. There's a problem with the witness in the Adler case. It shouldn't take longer than three days, and in the meantime I've arranged 24 hour surveillance around the apartment. If you go out, there'll be people keeping an eye on you, just in case. I promise I will try my best to sort this out. I love you. Max. P.S- take the next few days off work." She finished, clearing her throat. She folded the paper in half, then into quarters sharply with her manicured nails and threw it into the fire with venom, condemning it to cinders the next time they lit the fire.

_**A/N: If you spotted the Sherlock reference you have my congratulations :D**_


End file.
